


Weasley Is Our King

by reaperlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthurian, Attempt at Humor, Bechdel Test Pass, Bumbling Dad, Crack, Cthulhu Mythos, Death Note - Freeform, Dubious Morality, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Fix-It, Fluff and Crack, Game of Thrones References, Good Weasleys, Harems, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Humor, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Manipulative Dumbledore, Marriage Contracts, Monty Python, Mpreg, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Even Trying With The Accent, Oaths & Vows, Parody, Past Child Abuse, Politics, Pop Culture, Pureblood Culture, Ron Being a Jerk, Royalty, Rubber Ducks, Sitcom, Soulmates, Threesome - M/M/M, Veela Draco, What-If, Witchblade - Freeform, improbable scenarios, papa wolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperlight/pseuds/reaperlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironically enough it was all Draco's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weasley Is Our King

**I.**

Ironically enough it was Draco’s fault. 

The Ministry of Magic had long forgotten that they only had power by the will of the People of Magical Britain. They had forgotten until the People and the People’s magic took it away—such is the way of magical government. There was a great wailing and gnashing of teeth—none more than from the Malfoys (in fact it was rumored that when the announcement was made that Draco had to be stopped from bashing his head into the wall)—but nothing could be done about it.

It really was all Draco’s fault. 

A befuddled redhead was lead by his new retinue of witches and wizards sworn into his service through the once abandoned castle that had come alive with magic to claim a throne, _his_ throne—a most peculiar throne made of hundreds of broken wands. When Ollivander first saw it he nearly had a heart attack and proclaimed it to be the Legendary Wooden Throne of Britain’s Last Dragon King. 

“What would a Dragon King want with a wooden throne?” asked the increasingly confused new King.

“What do you mean?” 

“You know… Wood. And Dragonfire. _Poof!_ ”declared the King, throwing up his hands for added effect. 

“Yes, but wands are made of wood,” Ollivander said slowly, as if speaking to an idiot. 

The King was sure whoever had made that damn throne was mad—it had to be the most uncomfortable chair ever made and the broken wands poked and splintered when he sat in it, but he let it drop—seeing as he wasn’t too fond of pointless arguments. Besides if Garrick Ollivander wanted to believe that the uncomfortable wooden chair once belonged to a Dragon King who was he to stop him? He was only the King of Magical Britain, after all. 

For better or worse. 

The new King hadn’t wanted the crown but refusing it was apparently not an option. Now that Magical Britain had a King once more the title could not be conferred to someone else. A magical oath of this nature, once given, could not be undone—at least not without serious consequences—the best that they could hope for was to only lose their magic and become squibs, at worst to betray their sworn King could potentially mean the death of their entire family line.

It was all Draco’s fault—by having so many ancient pureblood families declaring that “Weasley is our King” Magic had made it so—they were now all bound to serve the current Head of the Weasley family. 

“All Hail King Arthur! Long Live the King!” 

And that’s how Arthur Weasley became King of Magical Britain. 

**II.**

Arthur Weasly was a simple man. Mild-mannered and kind and he didn’t think he was truly cut out for politics or the role he’d been thrust into. That said, he would rule to the best of his ability. 

It helped that he’d also hired many advisers who actually knew how to play the game and listened to their advice.

First there was Sirius Black—pardoned at the Will of the King and given a public hearing in which he voluntarily took Veritaserum in order to clear his name for all the Wizarding World to see. Though Sirius might despise it, along with everything else that reminded him of his abusive upbringing, the Black scion knew how the game was played and he was invaluable to Arthur as his Chief Political Adviser. 

Then there was the matter of Magical Britain’s budget and the mess the Ministry had made of it. Finances were admittedly not Arthur’s strong point—he was used to scrimping and saving (and the one time they’d come into some money they’d ended up blowing it all on a trip to Egypt) and taking out such large loans as were necessary for the economy of Magical Britain made him incredibly nervous. So Arthur hired Peneus Greengrass as Magical Britain’s new financial adviser and his wife Creusa Greengrass née Nott as their top legal adviser—both were the very best in their respective fields. 

Hiring the Greengrasses also had many political benefits—the Greengrasses were neutral purebloods (even Creusa who had been raised by a Dark family) and Peneus was the financial adviser to many of Britain’s wealthy wizarding families and was one of the few wizards of the old families still on good terms with the Goblins—Arthur already knew him through Bill. The appointments would also win him the support of many of the more moderate purebloods. 

By far Arthur’s most controversial appointments as far as the Wizards were concerned were hiring of actual muggles to inform him of the muggle world (the dentists Doctors Daniel and Emma Granger to be specific) and the fact that Arthur had appointed the known werewolf Remus Lupin as his Ambassador. Not just to the Creatures as Lupin had first surmised but for _all_ of magical Britain. 

Lupin, like Arthur himself was a pretty mellow kind of guy, at least when it wasn’t that time of the month. He was also well-read, extremely loyal, and had learned to take heaps of abuse and just let it roll off his back. And of course the occasional angry flash of the Wolf’s amber eyes worked wonders during diplomatic negotiations. 

Amelia Bones would become his Secretary of State for Defense and Xenophilius Lovegood handled public relations amazingly well. 

And so it was that King Arthur and his Court which included several former Order members, would meet to play poker and have pizza and firewhiskey (while Molly tutted and offered them tea and biscuits) around the Weasley’s card table—it was a Round Table, of sorts. 

**III.**

Molly Weasley had naturally been quite upset about the whole thing—after all, being a King was dangerous business—for both Arthur and their kids. So Molly did what she always did when someone upset her and Draco Malfoy became the recipient of one of Molly Weasley’s infamous Howlers. 

Vincent Crabbe, in a well-meaning but ultimately _stupid_ attempt to silence it, ended up burning down Slytherin dorms with his fiendfyre. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one died (a miracle named Snape, to be honest, but few were want to give the cantankerous old bat any credit) but now Slytherin dorms had to be ventilated and rebuilt. Until the renovations were over all of Slytherin House had to cram in with the Hufflepuffs to the everlasting joy of neither party. 

The Gryffindors joked that they should aid their poor beleaguered classmates with the remodeling and give Slytherin dorms in a nice new paint job. The Twins were all for turning the rebuilt rooms a nice, cheery shade of red until Hermione Granger pointed out that, House Pride aside, the green rooms were probably better for the Slytherins mental state, in more ways than one. 

“Did you know that muggle prisons and mental hospitals are often painted a similar shade of green as Slytherin?”

“Really?” 

No way?”

“Why would muggles make anything like slimy Slytherins?” 

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh and resumed scanning through the heavy tome she was reading even as she gave Ron her answer. “They don’t know about Slytherins, Ronald, and it’s because green rooms are calming for people with violent tendencies. Red rooms aren’t very calming to people with murder on the mind.”

“Which explains a lot about some Gryffindors,” Luna said dreamily from her place at Harry Potter’s side, earning the occasional self-deprecating chuckle from the Gryffindors that actually had a sense of humor while the others simply eyed the blonde Ravnclaw in annoyance. The rest of Gryffindor wasn’t quite sure when or how it happened but at some point Harry and Neville seemed to have “adopted” the Ravenclaw and she sat with them ever since. She’d even taken up residence on the couch in the Gryffindor common room until Hermione had marched her up to the Gryffindor’s girls’ dorms and insisted she room with them instead. When she eventually found out, it was to the shock of all McGonagall had permitted her to stay. Most of Gryffindor House never did hear just what happened between Luna and her housemates—just something about how “sometimes girls were crueler than boys” but under McGonagall’s stern eye they did their best to make her feel welcome—even though she was a little odd at times and sometimes tended to blurt out whatever was on her mind (irregardless whether it was appropriate or not) but it was rarely done in malice and with the Boy-Who-Lived’s encouragement most of the Gryffs had decided she was alright. Even though she still wore a blue and bronze tie she was a Gryffindor now in all but name. 

“I imagine that would be the case if you painted their dorms, guys,” Dean Thomas chipped in. 

With that explanation, the Gryffs were fine with leaving the Slytherin Dungeons their proper shade of green, collectively agreeing that the “baby death eaters” didn’t need any more encouraging of violent tendencies. Though Granger’s bit of trivia lead to much speculation on whether Salazar Slytherin foresaw what sort of student his House would attract or if it was all just a happy coincidence due to the Snake on Slytherin's coat of arms being green. 

Though after learning more about muggle prisons and hospitals the Twins did leave the Slytherins gifts of muggle straightjackets, additionally charmed so that they couldn’t be removed for at least a week. Why so many Slytherins were stupid enough to try them on in the first place caused the members of Hogwart’s staff to throw up their hands. That Fred and George had left them in a box labeled “Magic Amplifiers: Cast Spells Longer and Harder, Enlarge Your Core and Impress The Ladies” might have had something to do with it but even the Twins hadn’t expected their prank to be so successful or for the majority of the male population of Slytherin House (and even a few of the girls) to fall for it. The morning after the Slytherins returned to their Dorms the only fifth year Slytherin boy without a Straightjacket was Draco and apparently that hadn’t earned him any friends. 

**IV**

Arthur sighed when Ron had whined about him hiring “Slimy Slytherins” and figured it was long past time he sat his son down and explained to him that there was more to life than schoolyard rivalries.

Ron would never know how he had blown his chances. The Greengrasses had a daughter in Ron’s year, Daphne—a pretty girl; long blonde hair, vibrant green eyes, and of marriage contract age. Arthur had been shocked speechless—such an offer hadn’t been made to the Weasley family in generations ever since they’d fallen out of favor with the elite after they spent the entire family fortune thanklessly defending Britain’s shores against the forces of Grindelwald. Of course Ron had ruined it by opening his mouth. 

Though the marriage contract fell through Arthur’s respect for the Greengrasses only grew after that—they were more concerned for their daughters’ safety and happiness even if it meant turning down the chance to marry her off to a Prince. And even though Arthur was sure Ron would mature one day he could understand their point of view. After all, he certainly wouldn’t want to marry Ginerva off to someone who was vocally proclaimed that all Gryffindors would be better off dead and called her a bitch. So it was probably for the best... though perhaps one of his other sons or maybe his ward might be interested in cementing the alliance. Because for all their… _craftiness_ Arthur felt that the Greengrasses were good people at heart and such an offer wasn’t made lightly.

**V**

Arthur had magnanimously offered to allow Fudge to remain in a symbolic position but, naturally, Fudge wouldn’t have it. He accused Arthur and his followers of high treason and declared War on them.

Or rather, he tried to. 

It had to be one of the Shortest Wars in the History of Magic since Ignatius the Idiotic declared war on Cthugha ( _oh how bright he’d burned!_ ) Fudge was near immediately punished by Magic for going against his rightful King because, unbeknownst to Fudge, the Fudge family had also inadvertently sworn fealty to The Weasley Royal Family when Cornelius’s own son Cernunnos, a First year Slytherin, had joined in with the Quidditch taunts and had also declared Weasley as his King. 

Unfortunately for poor Cornelius, he only learned this after Magic had made him a Squib. 

The same fate befell the boy’s true mother, one Dolores Umbridge. 

**VI**

After the Fudge debacle it occurred to Arthur that the Ministry worked for him now—he could read all about the Unspeakables’ studies of Muggle transportation and technology—files that had been restricted to him before when he had been merely a lowly Ministry worker bee. Arthur delighted upon discovering there was an entire section of Unspeakables extensively studying Muggle modes of transportation and technologies and he quizzed them all mercilessly. It got to the point that the Unspeakables regularly took to buying His Grace rubber ducks so that he might ogle at them and leave them alone. While Arthur’s enthusiasm was well-meaning it would still be several more years before wizards might find a way to convert more muggle electrical devices to run on magic—at least in such a way that it would be accessible to the average witch or wizard. 

**VII**

Ron Weasley was a bit put out that despite being the target of Draco’s bullying, and inadvertent impromptu coronation, he himself wasn’t named King. And so Ron whined and Ron sulked and Ron pouted until Arthur informed him that, for better or worse, he was the next in line—Bill had a contract with the Goblins that he said would be a conflict of interest, Charlie was happily taming dragons in Romania and had a similar contract with his employers, Percy had disinherited himself last month to further advance his career in the Ministry (he was of course, kicking himself now and had sent many sincere, heart-felt apologies ever since), and Fred and George already had their hearts set on opening a joke shop and didn’t want to be stuck running a country all day.

Ron of course was insufferable after that. 

It was fun forcing Draco and his cohorts to address him as his Majesty Prince Ron—not Ronald, _dammit,_ Ronald was what his mother called him when she was mad at him—Heir apparent and soon to be Lord of Magic. Or at least it _had_ been fun for a while but eventually even his fellow Gryffindors got tired of it. 

Even Fred and George thought Ron went a bit too far when he made Draco lick the shit off his shoes or lose his magic and as a result Draco became seriously ill with a bad case of Dragon Pox and almost died. While whether the hypothetical death of Draco Malfoy was of any great loss was a subject of much debate in the Gryffindor common room no one was thrilled that the Heir Apparent of Magical Britain, or in the Weasley’s case their dear brother had nearly become a murderer at the ripe old age of fifteen. And while the Twins sometimes skirted the line they certainly didn’t need _ickle Ronniekins_ tarnishing their allegedly _Light_ reputation with the death of the pureblood scion. And while the Twins were no slouch at misdirection or covering for their brother it would be hard to sweep something like that under the rug. So they’d turned Ron’s hair green and silver for a month in Draco’s honor and sent their condolences and apologies to the sickly Slytherin on behalf of their idiot brother who they knew was too thick and too stubborn to ever do so... Besides it would become difficult to procure all their potion ingredients they needed for their joke products if certain members of the Dark faction decided to resume an active vendetta against their family. 

Of course word got back to Malfoy of what the Twins had done. Draco had, naturally, lost a lot of friends with his inadvertent Crowning of the Weasleys Family and the subsequent destruction of Slytherin House (even if the latter was technically _Crabbe’s_ fault). He was on the shit-list in Slytherin, with the Dark Faction, and even with his own family. So it was that when the Twins defended Draco’s Honor it had actually _meant something_ to the blond—in fact it had _meant something_ enough to awaken the Malfoy scion’s latent Veela heritage. 

It was to the shock of everyone that as soon as Draco recovered from his Dragon Pox that the three of them began dating. _Seriously._ And when Draco became pregnant to the further shock of everyone, due to being a male Veela or something, Draco and the Twins even got Lucius and Arthur to agree to draw up a marriage contract between them—settling a century’s long blood feud in the process. 

Draco gave birth (don’t ask how—suffice to say a wizard did it, or more specifically three wizards did it) to a pair of redhead twins of his own—so now the staff of Hogwarts waited in fear of the day that the young hellions Scorpius Fabian and Gideon Hyperion Malfoy-Weasley would carry on the mischief of their fathers. 

**VIII**

When news got back of what Ron had done, Arthur had been furious and he’d abruptly returned Percy to the Weasley family so that Prince Percival was now the Heir Apparent. In truth Arthur had been considering it for the longest time because Percy was sorry. So very, _very_ sorry. He went out of his way telling him just how sorry he was. Arthur had just sighed. He wanted to bring his wayward son back home, and he knew Molly did too, but at the same time he hadn’t wanted to hurt Ron or make him feel further inadequate and if he brought Percy back into the family due to the nature of the Magic of the crown Percy would become the heir. 

Unfortunately Ron had forced his hand—in the end, he’d done it himself. If this was how Ron reacted to having a bit of power as just a child Arthur shuddered to imagine what he would do once he became King. Perhaps he would mature one day as Percy had done but as he was now, Ron was just not ready for any kind of responsibility more serious than rattling broom closets. 

Percy would make a great king one day and while he would always be _driven,_ Arthur’s most ambitious son had the responsibility and now had learned humility to rule responsibly. And, Merlin forbid, should something happen to Percy, well he’d made it so Ginerva would be heir and his ward would be Regent before Ron ever got to sit The Wooden Throne.

To his credit Ron did apologize when the twins brought Draco home for Christmas dinner (though the sincerity of said apology that was up for debate.) Of course Ron and Draco would never be friends but it turned out they could even occupy the same room so long as they could pretend the other didn’t exist. 

**IX**

Lucius knew which way the wind was blowing and so the elder Snake had swallowed his pride and come to Arthur on bended knee. It was truly a windfall for Magical Law Enforcement—Lucius gave them everything in exchange for immunity for himself and his family. Honestly, Lucius wanted Voldemort gone as much as they did—the Dark Lord had taken up residence at Malfoy Manner—a very rude and snakey party crasher that wouldn’t leave. It had also long galled the Malfoy family to bow and scrape to a half-blood but up to a point they had respected their Lord’s power, the charisma he had once held, and his status as Slytherin’s Heir enough so that the facts of the Dark Lord’s heritage, more often than not, were conveniently forgotten. 

So it was that after the Fall of Old Snakeface, Lucius became another of Arthur’s “advisers.” It didn’t happen all at once, of course and no one trusted him very much—true he had “changed sides for them” but really that just showed how faithless Malfoy really was. He’d already betrayed one “Lord” and there was nothing to stop him from betraying them as well should he have the future opportunity. Sworn oath or not, Lucius Malfoy was and would always be most loyal to Lucius Malfoy. He was a true politician. 

Lucius quickly found to his vexation that Arthur, unlike Fudge actually had some grey matter between his ears and knew better than to blindly follow Lucius’s questionable “advice”—no matter how big a check he might oh so altruistically “gift” to the realm’s coffers. To his credit it seemed Lucius realized fairly quickly that Arthur was the rare political animal that couldn’t be “bought” and so changed tactics, trying to ingratiate himself with and uh, _slither in_ to Arthur’s social circle. He began regularly crashing Arthur’s Round Table poker parties, though honestly no one complained too loudly provided he brought the firewhiskey. 

Arthur would heed Lucius’s advice should it prove useful—as much as Arthur would have liked to, it would have been just as foolish to completely disregard everything Lucius said as it would be to blindly follow him; because despite the man’s many, _many_ faults Lucius was a brilliant politician and strategist. So Arthur listened to Lucius and Arthur listened to his many other advisers but always took everything with more than a grain of salt. Because in the end it was Arthur who had to make the judgment calls and if or rather _when_ something went wrong it would be Arthur who took the blame. 

**X**

Predictably, Dumbledore had demanded an audience with the King. Apparently Albus took exception to his keeping Lucius Malfoy’s company even if said company was barely tolerated and it was only logical they would be in contact since the man’s son had married into the Weasley family. Albus found the Greengrass’s Gray-Neutral status to be questionable as well or at least said as much to Arthur. So it was that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore got an invite to one of the already legendarily exclusive Round Table Conferences… 

Dumbledore flooed in just in time to hear the tail end of a heated argument. The elderly schoolmaster followed the shouting voices to Arthur’s garage where all of his Court sat around a small card table, the “Round Table.” 

The King and his court all sat, crowded around the little table in the garage, surrounded by the various disassembled bits and ends of various muggle devices and eating pizza as they discussed the affairs of the realm—it was their bi-weekly meeting. This time Lucius had recommended that they have Zabini’s Pizza do the catering. Even Sirius, their resident esteemed connoisseur of “proper” muggle pizza and takeout, agreed that it was truly the best pizza Magical Britain had to offer provided you avoided the heartfire toppings. 

Well it was the King and his court… plus Severus Snape.

Snape wasn’t normally part of these proceedings but he had insisted that he be allowed to _bitch_ …. that is _have his grievances heard_ , when Arthur’s government hired several thousand foreign portioneers to work on a variety of altruistic projects. And if the greasy man took more than his share of equally greasy pizza than no one could exactly protest. He was invited in, after all, and in he had come to plague them—like the vampire he resembled. Sirius thought it was a crying shame that Snivellus _wasn’t_ a vampire, considering the amount of garlic he’d consumed.

“…Excuse you, you greasy bat! But I would rather feed Remus potions that work than make him drink English patriotism and die. Besides, I’ll have you know that the Ancient and Noble House of Black is footing the bill. We’re onto you, Snivellus. You are either too incompetent to brew it properly or you’ve been screwing up _on purpose_ to make Remy sick. So which is it?”

“The true question, Mr. Black is: are _you_ trying to kill Mr. Lupin. You, who only got an Acceptable in potions? And yet you who profess to know more about the art of brewing wolfsbane than a Potion’s Master. It is doubtful you even understand the properties of the ingredients let alone how they are supposed to react…” 

“Yeah, we got a second opinion… or fifty. And they all agree, Snape. You’re doing it wrong.” 

“They’ve improved the taste too,” Remus added quietly. 

“It’s _supposed_ to taste bad, you imbecile. That means its working!”

“Yeah, well, apparently there have been some improvements made in the rest of the world since the last potion’s textbook was published in London in 1825.”

“How _dare_ you!” 

" _You guys..._ Sirius, is this why you couldn’t use British potioneers?” 

“Thank you, your Grace. As I was saying for _some_ reason it is difficult to find skilled British potioneers. You could almost say it coincides with Snape being hired as a teacher…” 

_“Black…”_ came Severus’s warning growl—despite the fact that such a response would not cast him in a very good light. He’d neatly fallen into the marauder’s trap—by protesting so adamantly it looked like he had something to hide.

“But that’s none of my business,” Sirius said cheerily before taking a sip of his earl grey tea. 

“As Sirius was saying, it turns out there is a glut of skilled potioneers in the East,” Remus said while thumbing through several sheets of parchments, “China, India, Vietnam, South Korea, Japan… too many potioneers, not enough work. By hiring workers from the East we were able to hire 200 skilled potioneers to brew wolfsbane and another 100 of the best and brightest to do research and development to improve the formula. Also, though it’s still in the early stages, there’s even talk of developing a cure… for those who want it.” 

Severus scoffed “Who wouldn’t want to stop turning into a flea bitten mongrel once a month.” 

Lupin glared at Severus from over the rims of his Reading Glasses (not for sight correction, naturally, the Wolf had no such problems, but they were charmed to allow the witch or wizard who wore them to read faster—a necessity Remus found seeing as he had a lot of paperwork to get through.)

“For some being a werewolf is a debilitating illness but for plenty of others being a werewolf has become their whole identity and to force a cure on them would only create countless more social problems.” 

“Congratulations, everyone. That has to be the biggest waste of money since the Ministry installed the Golden Throne Toilets. Way to effectively use tax payer money and…”

“I’m paying for it, remember? So shut your bitching, Snivellus.” 

Remus arched an eyebrow. “Shut your bitching?” 

“Shut up,” Sirius said in a pouty growl. 

“Yes, when running a country it’s good to know I am surrounded by mature reasonable adults.” Remus groaned aloud when he realized that all throughout their side argument, Severus hadn’t “shut his bitching.” 

“…way to create jobs for English brewers. Bravo Weasley.” 

“You mean, _Your Grace,_ ” Lucius thankfully interrupted before Snape could begin another tirade. 

Remus wasn’t sure how Arthur put up with it all… but then he noticed the pink petals of a Wizarding Wireless bud in his ear. 

_Figures._

Remus groaned again when he noticed that the Death Eater Drama Queen Duo weren’t by any means finished. 

“Oh shut up, Lucy,” Severus snorted, “You’re such a kiss ass! Tell me, did the Dark Lord break your _other_ wand as well?”

Rage flashed across the blonde’s aristocratic features. ”Excuse me, but by your Grace’s leave I have to kill him now.”

Severus dove under the table as Lucius’s snake cane wand (the very same wand that had been broken by the Dark Lord and repaired by the new King with a fascinating silvery substance that Arthur called Ducktape) began shooting suspiciously green sparks at the potion’s master. 

_“NO MURDER IN THE HOUSE!”_ Molly hollered from three rooms away and both former Death Eaters froze in their seats. It was easy to see why Arthur was so whipped—that woman could be scarier than Bellatrix.

“Right… if you two are quite finished with your lover’s quarrel…” Creusa Greengrass deadpanned while reaching for another slice of Zabini’s fine Italian sausage pizza. 

Lucius froze at that. “How did you know?”

“ _Shut up, Lucy!_ ” Severus growled from beneath the card table. 

“Know what?” Arthur asked, scratching his head. 

“Nothing you can prove… your grace,” Lucius sneered before realizing he was talking to. 

“Wait… you and Snivellus? But what about Cissy?”

“The Devil take your cousin, Black!”

Dumbledore chose that moment to audibly clear his throat. 

“Arthur, might I have a word?”

Awkward silence reigned until someone nudged Arthur and he removed one earbud. 

“What?”

“Arthur, a word, please?” 

“Of course, Albus... Well, what did you want to say?” Arthur asked, leaning in. 

As did the rest of Arthur’s court. 

Dumbledore did _not_ fidget as he suggested “ _Alone?_ ” 

“Not you too! He’s married, Albus! And our King! And, no offense, but you’re like a hundred years older than him!” 

“Bad Siri. Get your mind out of the toilet bowl!” Remus growled, smashing him lightly across the nose with a rolled up Quibbler. 

“You’re so cruel, Mooney!” Sirius fake cried while dramatically rubbing his nose. 

“Want me to kiss it better?”

“Yes, perhaps that would be for the best,” Arthur sighed as Sirius and Remus once again began to make out on his card table. 

Arthur gestured and they left to speak in the Burrow’s living room. Arthur held in a sigh as The Wooden Throne followed him… just as it had had migrated into his garage shortly after Arthur began to hold all his official meetings there. For whatever reason the damn splinter seat seamed rather attached to him. Arthur would just as soon have sat on his couch but the Throne wouldn’t have it and sulked most horribly when he wasn’t planting his ass in it—and so Arthur sat upon it.

Dumbledore looked pointedly up at his crown and made tut tutting noises though Arthur couldn’t guess as to why—the crown and the throne being the only things that really marked his office. Arthur felt ridiculous wearing the extravagant robes his sworn followers would dress him in and so, aside from the crown, continued to dress simply. Naturally, the Daily Prophet would be analyzing every aspect of his wardrobe choice every day for the rest of his life and recommending to young wizards on how best to imitate it—the Weasleys and their friends all thought it hilarious.

Today Arthur was just wearing his favorite brown plaid button up shirt, a pair of khaki slacks, and a dragonhide leather jacket (much to Molly’s annoyance). Sirius had insisted he get him one as a thank you gift for pardoning him and while Arthur thought he looked dashing in it Molly thought it just had all the markings of a midlife crisis. 

And of course atop Arthur’s thinning red hair sat the golden circlet itself, bestowed upon him by the collective Magics of the People of Great Britain. Arthur had been quite alarmed when the golden crown first appeared there, complete with ornate jewels and elaborate charmwork—animated weasels in imperial topaz and bronze leapt and darted around between the spires of the crown, pursued by roaring golden lions. It was especially alarming to Arthur since he’d just been tinkering with a muggle toaster oven in his garage, minding his own business, when he suddenly felt it form upon his head, accompanied by the roar of the lion. At first Arthur had thought he had been beset by a rogue piece of toast.

The circlet’s charmwork was just lovely (well, naturally, it should be, Magic herself had created it) but after the first hour Arthur silenced it—the constant roaring of the lions was giving him a headache. It wasn’t uncomfortable to wear—the circlet was featherlight so it was not so heavy was the head that wore the crown—which was fortunate since it seemed the crown was at least in part sentient and reluctant to come off as he had discovered the first time he’d gone to take a shower. Finally, with some coaching Arthur got the crown to temporarily leave his head--it had migrated down to become a circlet on his wrist until he was done washing his hair—then it was right back on top of his head. 

“Ah, of course… the lion of Gryffindor,” Albus observed, stroking his impressively long white beard thoughtfully. 

“Actually… it’s the lion of England but I suppose my Alma Mater works as well.” 

Arthur held in a sigh as Albus made himself at home, clearing off a space on Arthur’s sofa, levitating a portion of Arthur’s growing collection of rubber ducks so that they now sat in the middle of his coffee table. At one time Arthur wouldn’t have dreamt to go against the Great and Powerful Albus Dumbledore. Why would he when he was the Lord of the Light who could do no wrong? 

Being crowned King of Magical Britain had given him a little more perspective. Arthur had learned many things of late about the venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts that put a lot of Dumbldore’s actions into question and it seemed that the compulsions and potions his Unspeakables had flushed from his and his family’s system really was just the tip of the iceberg…

“Now Arthur…” Albus began, taking off and wiping imaginary specks of dust off of his half-moon glasses, “Now Arthur,” he began again, “You’re not _really_ going to continue this little charade, are you?”

“Charade? Whatever do you mean Albus?”

“You don’t truly mean to rule?”

“Did you truly believe that all _this_ ,” Arthur exclaimed, gesturing at the throne, the crown, and his garage where arguing voices could still be heard, “was all just for show?”

Arthur idly picked at the latest splinter that had lodged in the palm of his hand thanks to the damned chair. 

“Why don’t we cut to the chase? Why are you really here, Albus?”

“Why was I not named one of your advisers?”

Arthur blinked. “But you are the Headmaster of Hogwarts. And the Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. _And_ the Head of the Order of the Phoenix. I did not want to add to your stress, Headmaster or give you a Conflict of Interest.” 

Arthur began but Dumbledore seemed not to have heard him. “You can’t tell me you really want to be King…”

Arthur heaved a weary sigh. “Not really, no.” 

“You know you could appoint a regent. Have someone else more _knowledgeable,_ more _experienced_ in the matters of statecraft rule in your stead.” 

“And betray the trust so many witches and wizards have placed in me? No Albus, you know I never asked for this but I promise you I will be the best king that I can be. Besides, I don’t have much of a choice, now do I? Rest assured I have a list of possible successors to take over from me as Regent should, Merlin forbid, something happen to me or my children before my heir comes of age….” 

“There’s _always_ a choice,” Albus rudely interrupted and given what the schoolmaster had to say Arthur had to wonder if Albus had even really heard him at all. “Don’t choose this, Arthur. You know, this much power… it can corrupt a person. This… this is too much power for one man. You’re going to go Dark.”

“Yes, and choosing not to would mean most of the old families would lose their magic.” 

Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Yes, many of them Death Eaters and Dark Supporters. Ironic.”

“As well as their children, the elderly, and people who can’t support themselves. You would have me condemn countless innocents and we both know they would never survive in the muggle world. If you would have me condemn them to such a punishment... it would be kinder just to kill them.” 

“Right. I forgot. You too are a pureblood.” 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” 

Had Albus really just painted him with the same brush as those that dressed up in masks and black robes and killed muggleborns? 

“‘Better off dead than a muggle,’ that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? I’m ashamed of you, Arthur. You have gone Dark!”

 _Unbelievable!_

Arthur heaved a weary sigh. “Stop twisting my words, Albus. I never said that. Really, where is your much vaunted compassion? Have you considered the consequences? Most of them have no education or knowledge of that world. I know _I_ couldn’t navigate it for long without help and I’ve studied muggles for most of my adult life! What do you think will happen to the average pureblood should they all be rendered squibs? They’ll _starve,_ Albus. Or they’ll be killed insulting the wrong muggle. Or they’ll end up in Muggle prison—and that’s really the best they could hope for. That’s the ‘redemption’ you would give them. As for me ‘going Dark…’ I suppose that’s a matter of interpretation. I am a simple man. You know well that my family is one of the Lightest left alive in Magical Britain and I do my best to live up to that reputation but I already have political detractors calling me ‘Dark’ for hiring a werewolf. History will tell I suppose. I don’t think I’m going Dark and I don’t think you really think that either or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“How do you figure that, Arthur?” 

“If you truly thought I was Dark you’d be attacking me right now. Not trying to manipulate—” 

“Now Arthur…”

“Sorry, _persuade_ me. You’d be flinging spells at me—not ridiculous accusations.”

“I apologize if the hard truths have offended you, Arthur.”

“Don’t, Albus. Just don’t. You know I try my best to be a good man and a good ruler. I love my wife, my family, muggle studies, and tinkering with things in my garage. As you well know those are the areas of my expertise. That’s why I have the Round Table Initiative. Out there are some of the best minds of our generation in their respective fields…” 

Arthur was cut off by the walls shuddering, followed by the sound of something breaking and Dumbledore’s bushy white eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“Speaking of family... Might I ask… where is young Harry?” Albus asked as he glanced around Arthur’s living room, as if he expected the Potter heir to pop up from beneath the sofa that very moment. 

Upon discovering just _how bad_ Harry’s home life really was Arthur had him named a ward of the Realm and formally adopted him into the Weasley family. 

All things considered, Arthur was surprised he hadn’t heard from Albus sooner. He figured Albus had probably been busy exhausting all other more indirect means of manipulation before actually resorting to coming here himself. 

“Playing Quidditch with the others, I do believe.” 

“Others?”

“Well yes. He’s out with Ron and Ginny. And Luna, And Daphne and Astoria… And Fred, George, and Draco. Oh and then Dean Thomas stopped by along with Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell and Draco’s friend… cousin of the pizza guy, I think… Blaise Zabini? Anyway the lot of them have got a pickup game going.” 

“Shouldn’t they be in here?” 

“Why? They know it’s boring—a lot of paperwork and grievances and unnecessary drama. This has probably been the most interesting meeting we’ve had in a while.” Arthur explained, while trying to readjust his seat upon The Wooden Throne, attempting the impossible task of getting more comfortable. Whoever built this thing must have been a masochist. “In any case they don’t have to worry about running the Realm for years to come. Let them be kids for once.”

“I see… I take it you know of the prophecy?” 

The red-head managed a polite “Yes” through gritted teeth. 

Arthur had become a bit disillusioned to discover that the “weapon” that he had nearly died protecting was simply a giant marble and, given what the Unspeakables had recently learned about the very nature of prophesies and possible futures, no more useful than a paperweight. Had Albus really meant to have Harry face Voldemort? And with no more training or protection than the average fifth year student? Arthur didn’t want to think poorly of the esteemed headmaster but… it was almost like he _wanted_ the kid to die.

“I’m also ‘aware,’ as you say, that prophecies, by their very nature are quite… _delphic._ And as it turns out, less than 3% of all so-called ‘prophesies’ ever come to pass.” 

“If that’s what you believe then what do you intend to do about Voldemort?”

“What about him? He’s already been taken care of,” Arthur commented while he fiddled with a bit of parchment he had stuffed in his jacket pocket. Arthur wondered if it would be rude if he took care of official state business while having this stupid, time-consuming discussion with Dumbledore. 

Oh, bugger it. He was _King_ and Albus was a schoolmaster with far too many titles to his overly long name. Arthur took out his parchment. 

_“WHAT?!”_ Dumbledore obviously didn’t want to just take his word for it that Voldemort would no longer be troubling them. 

Well naturally. Albus had dedicated most of his life to defeating Dark Lords. With this one gone now what would he do? 

Deny he was dead of course. By Morgana, he would probably continue to deny it even if Arthur showed him what remained of the bastard’s desecrated corpse. Or, if he really could be convinced that the dark lord was dead he’d probably go looking for another one—imagined or not.

“What?” Arthur shrugged and resumed reading his parchment. 

_“Excuse me?”_

“Yes, you’re excused Albus.” 

_“WHAT?!”_

Arthur sighed as Dumbledore began repeating himself. Perhaps his age was finally getting to him. 

“Yes Albus,” Arthur began gently, “You don’t have to worry about Voldemort anymore.” 

“What do you mean Arthur? How? That’s not possible… You must be mistaken!” 

“I’m not,” Arthur said soothingly. 

“Then _how?!_ ” 

“Right… well you see, after a meeting with our Queen…”

Albus blinked in obvious confusion. “Molly?”

“No, Elizabeth.” 

“The _muggle_ Queen?!” 

“The muggle Queen is the Sovereign of Great Britain. Have you forgotten The Treaty of Merlin of 513? Well, I suppose it’s understandable given Binn’s history lessons—I hear he was not much better when he was still alive. I may be King of Magical Britain but even I owe fealty to our Queen—as does the Ministry though they seemed to have forgotten this.” 

“How is it you know of The Treaty of Merlin? No offense Arthur; but history was never your best subject... Understandable given Binns.”

“Well, you see I’ve recently found myself in the position where I had to learn about the laws and history of this country in order to effectively rule it. And speaking of Binns, why don’t you just fire him?”

“He’s a ghost, Arthur. He ignores all attempts at disciplinary action. Also he has tenure. Right now the only way to get rid of him would be an exorcism and given that he’s a harmless ghost there’s some debate as to the morality of that action.” 

“What’s there to debate?” 

“You wish to make someone cease to exist simply because you find them annoying. Doesn’t that sound like murder?” 

“But he’s already dead.”

Albus shook his head and waved off Arthur’s objections. He hadn’t meant to get side-tracked. After all, he hadn’t come here to talk about _Binns_ of all things. “Besides, say what you want about Binns teaching methods but one good thing that came about all this is we have a staff member who works for free…” 

“Yes, but the students suffer for it. If you really can’t get rid of him then why not just hire someone else and move the class to another room?” 

“Back to the matter at hand—why bother meeting with the muggle Queen? Ancient laws or no Muggles don’t need to know about Wizard affairs. In any case the whole thing is sure to go right over their heads…”

“Albus, did you know Muggles have been to the Moon?”

“Don’t be _ridiculous,_ Arthur—”Albus began with another dismissive wave of his hand but it was _Arthur_ who successfully ignored _him._

“Anyway, as I was saying after meeting with the Queen, key members of Parliament, and the Ministry of Magic we have taken care of Britain’s Dark Wanker problem.”

“ _Dark Wanker?_ Why not say his name?” 

“Tom Riddle Jr.?”

“No. Voldemort.” 

“Well, I see no need to respect him or continue to use his ridiculous alias or the even more ridiculous You-Know-Who. _He_ no doubt would have wanted to be remembered as Voldemort or the Dark Lord. Given he was a murderer and a terrorist I see no reason to respect his wishes.” 

“Why do you keep referring to him in the Past tense?”

Arthur held in a sigh at Dumbledore’s selective hearing and willful ignorance and unfolded another bit of parchment he had in his pocket. There were many affairs of state he ought to be doing instead of wasting time dealing on Dumbledore. He could have been at the Round Table Meeting. He could have been going over paperwork. He could have been watching the kids play at Quidditch. He could have been tinkering with and magically modifying the Lamborghini that Q had given him. In fact there were many things he’d _rather_ be doing than speaking with Albus Dumbledore. 

“Because he’s dead, Albus,” Arthur tried to tell him again, gently. 

Dumbledore massaged his temples. “Don’t tell me you bought into Fudge’s rhetoric.”

“No, I mean he really is dead. _Again…_ Hopefully for good this time.” 

_“WHAT?!”_

“Yeah. My Unspeakables and MI-6 took care of it,” Arthur idly commented as he looked over the newest proposed version of The Dragon Conservation Act and occasionally made notes and asked questions in the margins using his bright orange Fwooper feather quill—a gift from his new press liaison, Xenophilus Lovegood. Arthur sighed again as his pretty orange quill ran out of ink again and made the determination right then and there that he would look into that strange and mysterious muggle “pen” technology. A quill that didn’t run out of ink for weeks would be very useful.

“But… _the prophecy…_ ” 

“Where does it say Harry has to be the one to kill him?” 

“You don’t know the contents of the prophecy?!”

“Yeah. Actually, we all do. Harry came in last weekend and had it read for all of us.”

“Then you know this isn’t going to work, Arthur! _‘…either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survive…’_ ”

“Yes, the Unspeakables all agreed that that line is the key. ‘At the hand of the other.’” 

“Then you agree what must be done…”

“Actually it was determined that that line can be interpreted in a number of ways. Notice that it’s “hand” not hands. And we all agreed it’s not a very _Light_ solution to force Harry to become a murderer before he’s even come of age so that’s how we chose to interpret that line—that it would be the Boy-Who-Lived’s _Hand_ that killed him. Harry has given Mr. Bond his blessing to act on his behalf, as his “Hand” as it were, in dealing out the Crown’s Justice.” 

“Wait? Bond? _James Bond?_ ”

“Who else?”

Naturally, even the insular magical community of Great Britain had heard of James Bond 007, the legendary spy. Of course there was some debate among the magical community if Mr. Bond truly was a muggle or if he was an unregistered wizard making use of untraceable wandless magic. The latter was the most popular opinion among the majority of wizards because few wanted to believe that a _mere muggle_ could ever be so competent. 

“I’m afraid I cannot divulge all the details of the mission even to you, Headmaster, but the Unspeakables and MI-6 assure me that the so-called Dark Lord is no longer a problem.” 

Arthur didn’t know all the details, and it was probably better for national security that he didn’t, but apparently “The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not” were something called a “lay-sar wristwatch.” Arthur knew what a wristwatch was but not this “lay-sar.” It would bear looking into. Maybe he could construct one in his garage. 

“But what does that mean, Arthur?” 

“Just that, they took care of the problem.” Arthur said slowly but it was obvious Dumbledore was not satisfied with that answer, he was clearly unused to being left out of the loop. Well, he’d just have to carry on then because not only had Arthur signed a confidentiality agreement he wasn’t about to divulge secrets that could potentially endanger the lives of agents or his own ward, Harry Potter. 

“But what do you mean, Arthur?”

Arthur sighed again and massaged his temples against his oncoming headache, brushing the golden crown as he did so. 

“How much more crystal clear do I need to be, Albus? The so-called Dark Lord Voldemort is no more. He has ceased to be! He's expired and gone to meet his maker! He's a stiff! Bereft of life, He rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed him to the perch he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He's off the twig! He's kicked the bucket, He's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisible!! _THIS IS AN EX-DARK LORD!!_ ”

One would be tempted to blame Sirius Black for the sudden increase in Monty Python quotes among King Arthur’s court—it did seem to fit his personality—but in this case the blame actually lay with Hermione Granger who had introduced them to the Muggle concept of “movie night.” Ironic really, considering how quickly she became annoyed with them for quoting it.

“Arthur…”

“You mean, _your Grace,_ ” sneered Lucius Malfoy, poking his head in from the garage—being his usual kiss ass self and sticking his pretty head where it didn’t belong. 

Albus belatedly spelled the living room silent to eavesdroppers. 

“Arthur, even if your muggles somehow managed to kill him he has ways of returning…” 

“Oh, you mean the horruxes?” 

_“Wha—?”_

“Also taken care of,” Arthur assured. 

“How did you know of the horcruxes?”

“Oh, sorry. Was that supposed to be a secret?”

 _“How?!”_ Dumbledore demanded. 

Arthur shrugged. “The Unspeakables. You see, it’s their job to know these things.”

Albus shook his head as if that could stop the very foundations of his world from falling apart. “Arthur, even if you _think_ you got them all there’s one more that even Voldemort didn’t know about…”

“You mean you _knew?!_ Just what did you intend? For Harry to die?!” 

Dumbledore seemed to visibly age before his eyes and made a good show of being _oh-so-sorry_ but Arthur wasn’t buying it—if he truly was sorry he wouldn’t have used Harry like a sacrificial pawn nor would he have left him with those _animals._ He would have found another way. 

“It has to be, Arthur. For the Greater Good.” 

“I don’t believe this!” Even if Albus wasn’t the good, honorable man he thought him to be Arthur had not thought that he would sink so low as to plot the _murder_ of a child. 

Arthur’s normally playful blue eyes became stern and cold, his furious magic generating a swirling wind around him, and for the first time the bumbling Weasley father looked every part the righteous King. 

“You will never work with children again,” Arthur decreed. 

“Now Arthur, be reasonable…” 

“Oh, I’m being more than reasonable. I could have you Kissed for this.” 

“You _wouldn’t…_ ”

“I would, if it meant keeping you away from the kids. Don’t tempt me, Albus.” 

“I am the Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot…”

“And I am your Rightful King. _Kneel,_ ” Arthur snapped and Dumbledore’s magic forced him to comply, bending down on arthritic knees. 

“How is this even possible?" Albus said, giving an exaggerated gasp of pain, "I don’t have children. No one in my family has ever sworn fealty to you.” 

“I am King of Magical Britain, Albus. That means Magical Britain. Not just the Ancient and Nobel families that put me in power.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but the boy must die. For the good of all—” 

“For your information Harry is no longer a horcrux and if I _ever_ see you anywhere near him or my family again I will have you Kissed on sight.”

They ended up using a muggle procedure tailored to fit magical means to have it removed. It was terrifying and nerve wracking, but it had worked—they stopped Harry’s heart so he was clinically dead for over a minute and successfully surgically removed the soul shard—and the piece of forehead it was attached to. Here muggles would have had to graft a new piece of flesh and bone or something barbaric like that but the Unspeakable Healers just restarted his heart, woke him up, fed him a couple of healing and skelegrow potions and he was right as rain. Now he was up and about and playing Quidditch and trying to give Molly a heart attack with the crazy moves he pulled on his broomstick. 

_“You cannot be sure!”_

“Actually, I can. I saw the soul shard being taken out and placed in a souljar. I was tempted to keep it in a paperweight on my desk but we didn’t want to leave any avenue by which he could return.” 

Albus violently shook his head. This... This was just not possible. Harry had to die. There was no other way. It was for the Greater Good and there could be only one Lord of Light…

“Now as I was saying I think it’s long past time Minerva became Headmistress, don’t you?”

“Arthur, you are being most unreasonable…” 

“You were planning on killing a _child_ , Albus, a child under your care! If anything I am being much too lenient on you. Now here’s what’s going to happen. You can either abdicate your titles and surrender gracefully and probably just spend a few years in Azkaban—which is far better than you really deserve—or I can have you Kissed for attempting to murder one of my wards. The choice is yours.” 

Beneath his long snowy beard Albus ground his teeth together—he would not be brought low and by a pathetic pawn like Arthur Weasley, no less! 

Albus made his final mistake when he attempted a Leglimens attack on the King of Magical Britain.

Now Arthur was no master Occlumens—in fact he, like most witches and wizards, had no idea what Occlumency even _was_ —but as it turned out the Crown Magic had provided him had built in protections against this sort of attack. 

It left Albus a gibbering wreck. 

Arthur Weasley leaned back upon the splintery Wooden Throne and surveyed what remained of the Great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

 **XI**

“…I typically wait until the treacle tart is golden brown before adding the sugar.” 

“Me too! But I like to add a bit of pixie dust as well.” 

“Really? But wouldn’t that cause it to burn?” 

“Well you adjust the temperature of course.”

Arthur returned to find the Round Table had disassembled into smaller groups to chat with each other but he was most surprised to find his wife and Creusa Greengrass discussing pie recipes. This raised a few eyebrows given she was a member of the pureblood elite culture and most of the pureblood elite consider doing such “Elf work” as “beneath them.” 

Molly paused in her conversation when she saw her husband come in, looking more than a bit haggard. 

“Arthur, is everything alright?” She asked with obvious concern, “What happened?” 

“This king business… it can be kind of terrifying,” Arthur confessed, more than a bit shaken over the Dumbledore Incident. 

“I’ve been telling you that all along, dear,” Molly tutted, shaking her head. 

“First the former Headmaster and now I’ve got to write up all these revisions to the old backwards laws…” 

“Oh! That reminds me! My Owl Order came! I found this delightful little shop that sells rare muggle items. I think it’s the thing you wanted? They called it a 'ballpoint pen?'” 

Arthur swooped in and kissed her on the cheek “Best wife ever!”

“I should certainly hope so,” said his wife, giving him a playful slap on his rear. “You don’t happen to have a harem on the side, do you?”

“Of course not, Molly dear, you’re more than enough for me.”


End file.
